


A Suitable Climate

by allyoops



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Impregnation, Class Differences, Cunnilingus, F/F, Historical, Knotting, Slightly forced marriage, Vaginal Sex, Very forceful consummation, Victim is Drunk, Victim's heat artificially induced, femsubex treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26261482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyoops/pseuds/allyoops
Summary: If Beryl is going to go to the trouble of plucking her wayward brother’s misbegotten child from a life of servitude and installing her in a situation better suited to her lineage, it’s surely not unreasonable to expect a favour or two in return.After all, what girl doesn’t dream of an advantageous marriage?
Relationships: Wealthy and cultured female alpha/Her grateful orphan omega niece she took in for breeding purposes
Comments: 18
Kudos: 263
Collections: Femsub Semi-Flash 2020





	A Suitable Climate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ba_lailah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ba_lailah/gifts).



Jerie stared into the depths of her commodious wardrobe and suffered the stranglehold of mounting dismay.

"Dinner at eight," Aunt Beryl had told her that morning. "Ensure you are dressed appropriately."

The difficulty was, even after living for nearly a month under Aunt Beryl's roof, Jerie was still not sure what would be appropriate to wear. It seemed as though every meal, every event, had a different, secret code attached to it that made one gown, perfectly suitable in a prior context, entirely unfit for the next one. Jerie knew she had fallen afoul of these unspoken guidelines far too many times since she was first welcomed into her aunt's gracious island home, and she was desperate that tonight should not be a repetition of those.

Aunt Beryl had been wonderful to take her in. It had seemed like a dream when the letter reached Jerie at the narrow, dark townhouse owned by her employers, summoning the girl from employment as a governess to a life of leisure. Gone were Mr. and Mrs. Webber, and their grim middle-class respectability. Gone was the gritty, grey damp of city life and the drabness of her life within the Webber household.

Despite Mrs. Webber’s housekeeper-cook’s dire warnings of loose island ways and grotesque immorality (“a bad end awaits every young lady in such a climate, Jerusha. You would not know it, being of such tender years, but I have heard rumours such as would grey your hair!”) Jerie had sailed to an island lush with greenery and colour and been installed in great comfort and some state in the fine, spacious property, where she enjoyed her own palatial bedroom with a plush and comfortable bed.

Quite contrary to Cook’s warning, Aunt Beryl had not been loose or immoral in any way. She was a refined and elegant lady, genteel and charming. She received Jerie at breakfast and morning tea every day, where she made polite little quizzes to Jerie about her health and understanding of various topics before giving her firm instruction on how to best comport herself so as to be worthy of the new station bestowed on her.

Jerie had been most anxious to be worthy of her station, and very grateful to Aunt Beryl for the guidance. Only it did often seem that despite the rigidity of expectation ("you must always be gracious and elegant in your demeanour" for example) the mechanism of execution was somewhat vexingly obscured, so Jerie kept failing to come up to scratch.

Now, home nearly a month, she was to be presented to society in some modest way. Aunt Beryl had said it was most important that Jerie be introduced as her niece, Beryl's brother's child, and that everybody should understand her place of belonging in her aunt's house, which Jerie thought was terribly gracious of her aunt, since even after nearly a month Jerie still felt she did not really have much of a place to belong.

Aunt Beryl was so unlike anything Jerie was used to. She was grand and refined. She wore lovely things, cut to suit her beautiful figure, so statuesque and correctly proportioned. She never seemed to perspire in the heat, nor have her hair in any way disarranged. Jerie, in the process of dragging her fifth possible gown from the wardrobe, caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the glass and saw that once again her own straw-coloured hair had come loose from its dressing-knot and spilled in casual, curly disarray all around her shoulders.

She did not look like a grand lady, come into her own rightful place. She looked exactly as she was: not yet twenty years of age, slight about the bust and hips, with freckles that insisted on multiplying across her nose and cheeks despite her religious adoption of wide-brimmed hats whenever she stepped out of doors—which here was not that often. Aunt said it was not suitable for a young lady to be seen unescorted, so Jerie was kept very close to the house.

Not that keeping close to the house was a _bad_ thing. Especially when one was so desirous of not embarrassing one’s aunt, and Jerie feared she was all too likely to embarrass her aunt. Jerie looked very like she belonged in a sadly under-budgeted nursery, caring for a few round, pale, middle-class children with poor manners. She did _not_ look like somebody who belonged in any of the clothing her aunt had ordered made. Now, staring at the rich, fine things on the bed, she was conscious of despair. Even more embarrassing, she was conscious of the need to weep.

Weep! As though she had any cause to feel anything but grateful to her aunt, who had sought out her brother's child at considerable expense and trouble to herself, and brought her home to stay. And such a lovely, comfortable home she had, too.

Jerie turned around in a kind of frustrated desperation, trying to take in the lovely proportions of her bedroom, remind herself of what a lucky girl she really was, when the door to the room opened and Aunt Beryl herself stepped in.

"Oh!" said Jerie, and clutched at the front of her dressing gown. "I'm sorry, Aunt, I hadn't expected—"

"Of course not," said Aunt Beryl quite calmly, closing the door behind her. She cast a fleeting glance over the gowns on the bed, and sighed. "Oh my dear, absolutely not."

She crossed to the wardrobe and removed a sea-green creation, foaming about the neckline and shoulders with golden lace, then gestured impatiently at the other garments on the bed. "Put those away, Jerusha, they are entirely wrong for this sort of affair."

"Yes, Aunt, of course," Jerie agreed, and felt nothing but gratitude for her aunt's guidance in the matter, as well as an undercurrent of shame that it had even been necessary. "I don't know why I thought—that is, thank you."

"Yes, well, you've really had no proper training," Aunt Beryl said soothingly, arranging herself on a low chair to watch narrowly as Jerie replaced all the garments just as she had found them. "I would hire a maid for you, but I am afraid it would be a trial for her, to cope with you in this state. We will need to wait until you have a better understanding of your role here."

"Yes, of course," Jerie agreed, replacing the final garment and turning to look bashfully at the area just above Aunt Beryl's hemline. Her feet were, naturally, concealed decorously beneath the garment that she called her at-home robe, a lavish cream-coloured creation of lawn and eyelet, crossed over at the front and belted with a lovely wide sash made of cloth-of-gold. "You're so patient with me, Aunt. I hardly know how to thank you."

Aunt Beryl smiled serenely.

"It's not a question of kindness or gratitude, my dear," she said. "It's a question of duty. Kindness and gratitude are sentiments suitable for the ordinary kind of people among whom you were raised, I have no doubt. But in your case, my duty is quite clear. You are the only child of my brother. It's true he made a very injudicious choice of alliance in your mother, but I am afraid he was not entirely his own master at the time. He allowed himself to be governed by his baser self, and given her religious upbringing of course there was no question of simply buying her off."

Jerie nodded, accepting this oft-repeated litany of her mother's unsuitability as a younger child might accept their catechism. Every morning she ate her breakfast and drank the tea her aunt poured and listened to the lesson of how her father's baser self had led him from his rightful station in life. Aunt Beryl, Jerie knew, had kindly intervened to correct this error, and restore her niece to her birthright.

"Yes, of course. Thank you," she murmured.

"Again, Jerusha," Beryl said gently, "gratitude does not enter into it. You see, now that you are here, there is a role for you to fill. It is far better and more appropriate that you fill that role than that you grovel in this manner, as though I were your benefactor."

Jerie blinked.

"Oh, but you are!"

"Nonsense," Beryl said warmly, and put out a hand of invitation. Jerie quite shyly put her hand in it, and allowed herself to be drawn close. "I am your aunt. You are here to assume your rightful place in my household, as I have always told you. The dinner tonight will allow me to introduce you in that capacity, so that everybody who lives here may understand who you are to me, and in what capacity I will keep you here."

She searched Jerie's face with some care. Jerie, standing so close to her, marvelled at the beautiful regularity of her aunt's features. She had such a perfect face, all clean-lined and elegant, with glass-green eyes and a refined bone structure. Jerie, gazing at her, was painfully conscious of her own softer features, her round, freckled cheeks and stubborn little chin and her button nose.

She dropped her gaze to her boot tops, and her aunt sighed.

"Come now," she said, "you look like a kitchen maid expecting a slap. I do admire what a humble and respectful girl you are, but it won't do to have my own flesh and blood cower this way. Especially not in front of my guests. Do you want to shame me?"

"Oh, no!" Jerie cried, alarmed. Her eyes flew open wide. "I'd never want that."

"Very good," Aunt Beryl approved. "I am glad to know it." She sat back a minute studying her niece. "Do you know, Jerusha, I wonder if it might be a good thing to explain more fully my intention in bringing you here. I had thought to wait a little longer, but it does not suit me to see you skulking about this place like a poor relation. I think you worry I might send you packing if you do not suit, and nothing could be further from the truth."

She gestured to the smaller chair to her right, and Jerie obediently settled into it.

"Do you remember the physician you visited before you made your journey to live with me?"

Jerie screwed up her face in thoughtful recollection. A hazy image of a broad, kindly face crowned with a shock of white hair drifted through her understanding, then wisped away.

"I think . . . how peculiar. Did I see a physician?"

"You did. It was necessary that certain elixirs be employed to keep you appropriately unresponsive during examination, so I was not sure how much of the visit you were bound to recall, but the examination was necessary to ascertain a few points. You are, you see," she petted her niece's hand fondly, "everything I had hoped you would be when first I learned of your existence. The good doctor made sure of it. And he prepared a special draught for you that was to assist you in growing into your nature, which I have been careful to supply to you every morning since your arrival. A month, he assured me, was more than sufficient to bring about the necessary alterations in your susceptibility.

“It used to be that these things had to trust in nature for their manifestation, and so some poor souls never did ascend to their birthright, but we are living, mercifully, in more enlightened times. Now if a girl such as yourself is properly arranged in her physique, as the doctor assured me that you were, she may also be suitably awakened to her nature by the employment of appropriate medicines. You understand?"

Jerie didn't, exactly, but thought she did a little.

"I . . . I've been taking medicine?"

"Yes. With breakfast, and in your morning tea."

"Oh," said Jerie. She could not think of what else to say, but one concern did strike her. "Am—am I unwell?"

"Unwell? Mercy, no, you are exactly as you should be. What makes you say such a thing?"

"Well, you did say medicine . . ."

"Ah, yes. I see. An understandable error. This is not a medicine which corrects illness; it's a simple preparation which advances certain natural tendencies within you. The formulation was adjudged, recorded and supplied by the doctor who first attended you, and it has been correctly reproduced by my own personal physician on the island, here. I have administered it personally to your tea every morning, so that there can be no risk of error. My physician explained to me that such a task is best not left to clumsy menials, and I entirely agree. Dr. Abernathy is one of our expected guests tonight, in fact, and he is very anxious to determine how well you have progressed."

"Oh," Jerie repeated, faintly. She looked down at her lap. "What . . . what does the medicine do, exactly?"

"The mechanism, of course, is obscure to me," Beryl said, quite dismissive of such plebeian technicalities as chemistry. "But its purpose is to awaken you to yourself." She smiled fondly at her niece. "You are everything I had hoped you might be, when I learned my poor, dear brother had fathered a child. There was always a risk, of course, that you might have taken after him instead of your mother, but thankfully the innate inferiority of his nature, being so unable to resist his own natural drives as he was, meant that you favoured your mother's greater influence instead. Your nature and physique are hers, which means they are compatible with mine.

“Our physical compatibility is, you understand, the _principal_ thing, and it has already been medically verified so you have no cause to be concerned on that point. The rest of it is all quite peripheral. You can be schooled to behave as you ought, I am not troubled on that front. I have learned you quite well enough this past month to determine that your nature is otherwise very sweet and obliging, and the roughness of your manner can be easily trained away. I do not want you to trouble yourself over that. It is not my intention to keep you much in society anyhow. No," she patted her niece's hand fondly, "your sphere is to be primarily domestic, and I think it will suit you very well.

“Now," she indicated the gown she had selected, "I would like you to come down shortly after the first bell, wearing that. I will send Hildy to dress your hair. But until that time," she leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to Jerie's brow, "I think it best that you rest. A most arduous evening still lies ahead."

And such was Jerie's desire to be pleasing to her aunt that she did not ask her what she meant by these obscure statements, but went at once to lie on the bed, and contrive to rest.

~*~

The supper hour began with a trifle less ceremony in island living than it did in the great cities, but it had its own manner of pomp and awe. Great, polished braziers flickered on either side of the main entry in anticipation of the gathering dark, and cast lovely warm patterns over Jerie's skirt as she carefully descended the stairs.

Hildy had appeared as promised, bearing a modest tea service and all the necessary implements of her craft, and relayed the instruction that Jerie was to take her tea while Hildy arranged her hair. Such was the hopelessness of Jerie's hair that she had finished the entire pot before Hildy managed to secure the modest coronet of plaits with pins sufficient to guarantee its obedience. Jerie moved very carefully down the stairs, floating in seafoam green edged with lacy gold, bitterly anxious that she not disarrange herself before the first guest had even arrived.

But in that, at least, she was safe. The first guest was already there. He was a lean, hawk-nosed man with a pale, piercing stare, which he turned upon her when she reached the foot of the stairs and Aunt Beryl broke off their conversation to wait for Jerie to join them.

"My dear," she said, "you are just in time. Dr. Abernathy, may I present my niece Jerusha? My late brother Philip's daughter."

"Miss Jerusha." The doctor bowed over Jerie's trembling hand. "A pleasure."

His eyes were very light, the palest blue Jerie had ever seen, and she thought they were piercing her very being. They made her feel faint. Or maybe that was the fire in the braziers, smoking and carrying on. Or maybe it was the closeness of her gown, or the heat of the day that lingered, which no amount of sea breeze could altogether dispel.

"I'm very . . ." she began, then stopped, swayed, and put a hand to her brow.

"Dear, dear," Dr. Abernathy clucked. He looked around. "Best get her onto the settee."

Jerie sat dully through a kind of conversation that floated above her.

". . . daily, as you said."

"And tonight? The accelerant—"

"My girl took it up to her not an hour ago."

"It's working on her faster than I would have expected."

"Will she be suitable company for the dinner?"

"Difficult to say." Dr. Abernathy suddenly appeared in her line of vision, scrutinising her closely. "The mother was of inferior stock, you said? This may be her influence on the lineage. The girl is succumbing very quickly to her fleshly self."

"The mother was not of _low_ breeding," Aunt Beryl corrected, "but she was certainly not of _our_ stature."

"Not many are," Dr. Abernathy said calmly, and straightened up so that Jerie stared at his watch fob instead. It twisted and turned, shooting off dull gold sparks of light as the fire in the braziers reflected off it. "Your self control in these quarters is quite unparalleled in my professional experience, Madam. You require no medicinal aid to your self-restraint, which is most unusual. I perhaps erred in assuming your niece would be of equal resolve. Her youth, too, may be a factor. A half-dose would have been quite sufficient to awaken . . . but there, you have got her nearly as she should be already. Perhaps a mild suppressant would be in order. A little sherry should do it, until the wine is served."

There was a flurry of activity all around, and next thing Jerie knew a dainty crystal vessel, tangibly costly in its delicacy, was placed in her gloved hand. She stared at the exquisitely-shaped flute, the liquid cradled within, and pinched the brief stem reflexively between her fingers.

"Drink, dear," Beryl said firmly, so Jerie did. Then she sought out her aunt's gaze and smiled gratefully. How lucky she was, to have an aunt so devoted to her well being. Aunt Beryl would help her know what to do. It was such a relief, to have Aunt Beryl to instruct her.

"Just sit there a while, my dear," Dr. Abernathy advised kindly. Then he stood and bent his head toward Aunt Beryl.

"I would not advise that she overtax her powers of conversation this evening. It will be something of a strain for her, as her nature takes hold, but I think a little light supper will help, and if she is seated among sympathetic parties they will likely understand that she is unequal to anything intellectual in nature."

"All my guests this evening are entirely in sympathy with my aims," Aunt Beryl assured him. She spared an absent-minded smile for Jerie, who smiled gratefully back. "I believe she is placed between Protheroe, my attorney, and Mr. Grantham."

"I would cheerfully suffer a demotion to Grantham's place, the better to monitor her condition," Dr. Abernathy suggested, and so it was arranged.

The remainder of Aunt Beryl's company arrived nearly in a body, all very punctual, and found their hostess in company with her niece, whom all described kindly to Aunt Beryl as a very pretty girl, and so quiet.

Jerie heard and appreciated the compliments as if from a very great distance. It felt as if something else was beginning to demand her focus, but of course she could not attend to it, because this was her aunt's party and it would be so rude to neglect her place here to explore the strange new excitement that was now welling up within her.

It was just the heat, she told herself, as Dr. Abernathy escorted her to dinner. The terrible summer heat . . . that was why she wore no shawl, wasn't it? The other ladies kept their wraps—so pretty, all embroidered—gathered close around their arms. They spoke of a chill, a breeze coming in off the ocean, but what nonsense! Jerie's arms were bare, and she felt quite afire within herself. These women were perhaps more accustomed to this tropical climate than she. That was all.

"You look a little flushed, Miss Jerusha," Dr. Abernathy murmured. His keen, calculating gaze swept her face. "Some wine, perhaps."

Jerie never drank wine like this. A very watered and inferior kind, on occasion, but this was clearly a vintage of some merit and it was unlike anything she had previously taken. Her aunt did not offer her spirits of any kind, and in her previous role of governess it had never been Jerie's habit to imbibe. But this mellowed her belly, cooling the centre of it to such a degree that she came back to herself a little, blinking rapidly, and scanned the table.

They were twelve in all. Not maybe what would be considered a very fine party back in the city, but still much finer and grander folk than the Webbers had ever hosted. The lawyer, Protheroe, was nearly the lowest-ranking gentleman at the table, seated only above a meek little cleric whose collar seemed a half size too snug for perfect comfort. These were all far finer people than she had known in her previous station. Why, one of them even had a title. He was called Sir Somebody or other, a magistrate of great physical proportion and large, scarlet nose, and his wife was a very angular and commanding lady. Nothing so lovely as her own aunt, of course, Jerie thought loyally. But a magnificent kind of woman all the same.

She was glad of Dr. Abernathy at her right hand, who did not scorn her awe. He was most attentive to her throughout, keeping her glass filled all through the courses, relieving her of the burden of conversation the moment her tongue slipped between her teeth to blunt what should have been a sibilant.

"There, now," he soothed, pressing the glass into her hand once more. "We'll get you through this."

"Is she quite fit to sign?" Mr. Protheroe asked in a low voice, and Dr. Abernathy nodded curtly.

"I will attest to her fitness," he said. "She is sufficiently in command of herself that there should be no difficulty."

This seemed to settle Mr. Protheroe, and dinner carried through to its conclusion.

Aunt Beryl rose and signalled that they should all retire, which might not have been the way of such affairs in the city, but of course this was the island, and things were different here. What would Cook think? Jerie wondered, then decided it did not matter, because when she tried to recall Cook’s face, she could not even remember it anymore. Cook was of another life. Jerie belonged here, now.

She stumbled contentedly through to the lovely drawing room, thoroughly supported by the strong, capable arm of Dr. Abernathy. He settled her kindly and comfortably in a low chair placed at her aunt's side, and again those pale eyes probed hers.

"You know where you are, Miss Jerusha?" he asked quietly. She looked at him surprise.

"Of course, Sir. I am at home in the house of my aunt."

He nodded.

"All right, Protheroe, she's fit for it. Responded to her name, knows where she stands. Granted that she's not fit to stand unassisted, I'd still say she's of sound enough mind to claim her own signature."

So Mr. Protheroe brought some documents forth, and Aunt Beryl gestured that these should be placed on a table by her hand. Jerie studied them in happy incomprehension as the warmth stole over her again, and Aunt Beryl addressed herself to her guests.

"As you all know, it has been my great sorrow to think that I am without any to succeed to my property and affairs. The nature of my family line is such that I could not content myself with, you see, just anyone, but the difficulty of finding a suitable person with which to ally myself has been a problem of considerable weight. Fortunately, my beloved brother, before he passed on, fathered a young lady who was suited to my purposes in every possible respect, and it has pleased me greatly to bring her here, and place her under my protection." She set her hand kindly on Jerie's shoulder, and Jerie quite welled up.

 _Oh no_ , she thought faintly, _I am going to cry_. And she focused so fiercely on this problem, and preventing it from becoming so, that she missed the next few lines of her aunt's speech, returning to herself only in time to hear her say,

". . . and wed."

The significance of this line was lost on Jerie, who was swimming through a wine-addled, balmy cocoon of confusion. She looked up at her aunt in dull, obliging pleasure when Beryl prompted, gently,

"Will you say yes to me, Jerusha dear? It should give me the greatest pleasure if you would."

"Yes, of course," Jerusha said promptly, needing to understand nothing more clearly than that Aunt Beryl desired her agreement. Aunt Beryl beamed proudly down on her, and then turned to the assembled group.

"There is therefore, that I can see, no reason we should not effect the deed at once. You are all therefore cordially welcomed to our wedding party, and asked to stand in witness to our exchange of solemnities."

Jerie did not quite follow this announcement. The thickness inside her mind and the lovely warmth spreading all through her body had taken her a half step beyond true understanding. How could this be a wedding? It was a dinner. She had got on such a pretty dress . . . bit warm for this weather, but so lovely . . . She watched the little cleric step forward, quite failing to understand his purpose in being here, and she was enjoined to rise to her feet, supported by Dr. Abernathy, and turned to face her aunt.

Her aunt!

Beryl was so beautiful. Jerie stared in simple admiration as she spoke. Told Jerie what a sweet and good girl she was, and how Beryl promised her and her children every comfort and protection. Then she asked a question . . . Jerie missed it, somehow, it slipped past her ears and slithered around her tongue, and she frowned a little, trying to hear it.

"Just say yes, now," Dr. Abernathy advised, and she flashed him such a grateful smile. What a helpful man. So kind to guide her. How had she ever found his stare alarming?

"Yes, Aunt," she said again, and everybody seemed really pleased about that. So she had not embarrassed Aunt Beryl after all. She had done it very right, with their help, and they were happy with her.

They let her sit down after that. Brought her a paper, long and covered with words, and gave her a pen so she could write her own name at the very bottom. Then Aunt Beryl did the same, the entire room applauded, and Jerie was overcome by all their support and their approval and their kindness. Oh! What a lovely place, the islands were. How wrong Cook had been, and how right she had been to come here!

Then the fog closed over her again, more solid and absolute, and the last thing she knew was Dr. Abernathy taking her by the hand again and leading her up the stairs to bed.

~*~

Beryl kept herself under rigid control for the rest of the reception. She accepted congratulations with her customary grace, and agreed with Lady Elmer that her little niece was a charming girl, and had every appearance of making a very promising wife. Young, yes, but wasn’t it better that way? They were more ready to accept guidance when they were still girls. And Beryl, everybody agreed, was the ideal person to provide it. Really a perfectly advantageous and harmonious match.

The marriage contract itself was duly witnessed and sealed away again under Protheroe's watchful gaze, then locked securely in Beryl's own safe. Not that she doubted Protheroe's loyalty, of course; the management of her estate had guaranteed the prosperity of his practice for generations to come. But Beryl had not secured her family's legacy through carelessness. She was not her dunderhead brother, chasing the first no-account bitch in heat who had dragged her honeyed hindparts across their land and got himself well and truly trapped. She was a woman of vision and the twin powers of drive and focus required to bring it to fruition. There were so few of their kind left. That was the problem. It made a person desperate, if they lacked the necessary breeding and training to make them careful. And Beryl was very, very careful.

She had scarcely dared to hope when word of her brother's child had reached her at the same time as news of his death. She had made the necessary inquiries, discreetly securing the girl a position in a quarter where no harm should befall her if, indeed, she proved to be everything that Beryl had hoped. The last thing she needed was for the girl to reach maturity in some place where another might lay claim first. The Webbers were no threat, and they had made a suitable stopping-place for the child until the English doctor had been able to inspect her properly and confirm that she was, indeed, engineered after the family pattern.

The mother's lineage was evident in the girl the moment she had appeared, but even in her relative lack of refinement, Beryl had found much that was charming. She was as biddable as anybody could have wished, and though there was bound to be some kind of adjustment period, Beryl did not doubt she could make of the girl all she wished her to be.

The wedding party mercifully did not overstay their welcome. The very subtlest of hints from Beryl were enough to disperse them, at which time she mounted the stairs with growing eagerness, and sought out her bedchamber.

There she found the girl arranged as she had ordered, Hildy supervising discreetly as Abernathy backed hastily out from under Jerusha’s skirts and turned to bow to his patroness.

"Pleased yourself?" she asked dryly, noting the telling distension in his trousers. He quailed.

"My lady I assure you, I have not been improper. I am a medical man, though, and naturally my professional curiosity—"

"Of course," she said carelessly. "You must inspect the specimen. I quite understand." She did nevertheless glance at Hildy, who inclined her head to confirm that the doctor had only made free with his hands. So that was all right.

"And what is your professional diagnosis, Doctor?" she asked, indicating to Hildy that she should prepare the tea. "Is my little wife quite fit to receive me?"

"She is structured internally as all the relevant texts indicate she should be, and she will no doubt respond according to her nature," he assured her. "There is a truly remarkable profusion of lubricant already in evidence. I think that when she returns to her senses, you will find her in as agreeable a frame as mind as you could possibly wish."

"Wonderful," Beryl said, quite warmly. "I am glad to hear it. I intend to have her tonight, and then we will see how matters progress. My reading suggests the urge may be on us for upwards of a week, but given that she is untried, it could be less than that."

"I am sure you will send for me if you have any concerns," the doctor said, and Beryl told him she would. Then he took his leave, and she settled in to accept Hildy's assistance with dressing for the boudoir, followed by a provision of tea.

"That will be all tonight, Hildy, thank you," she said, and then at last she was left alone with the slight, insensate figure on the bed.

Beryl did not rush. She settled into her preferred chair, and sipped the tea. It was, after the fashion of Jerusha's breakfast tea, doctored according to her purposes. But while Jerusha's tea had been aggressively laced with suppressants that she had only today replaced with accelerants, designed to bring the girl's cycle immediately into effect, her own tea was fortified with a mild stimulant that would allow her to relinquish her customary rigid self control and perform according to her baser nature.

Once the tea was finished, she advanced on the bed and undressed the girl at her leisure. The form was limp and unresistant, which compliance, however wine-induced it might have been, stirred Beryl to almost immediate arousal.

Philip had certainly done well in fathering this girl. She could forgive him his foolishness in all other things, now that she had taken his daughter to wife and secured her place in the family in as correct and legally binding a fashion as anybody could have wished. An impossibility back home, but they did things by an older law, here. The islands took a more pragmatic view of these matters. Here a niece was not an impossible choice of wife, and their children, when children came along, would be Beryl's lawful heirs and descendants. At home she would have been reduced to finding the girl a suitable mate and bestowing her fortune on their get. Here she could get her own children off the girl, and ensure the continuity of her own direct line through their offspring, and it would all be perfectly correct and secure.

She had Jerusha bared to the night, now, and took a moment to admire her prize.

She was a shockingly erotic sight. Unblemished, sweetly splayed, the candlelight making pretty shadows across her smooth skin, with a thatch of spicy-scented curls beckoning Beryl’s focus down to where she would shortly enter and claim her marital rights. True, Jerusha was rather more sturdy of form and frame than Beryl might have chosen, and the hips and breasts were not yet all she could have wished, but childbearing should certainly remedy the worst of those deficiencies and her natural sweetness and agreeability would more than compensate until then.

Beryl's cock twitched under her peignoir, and she sighed in pleasurable contemplation of the coupling to come. She had only once before enjoyed joining with one of her own kind, and there had been no question of further assignation. She had thereafter contented herself with the usual sort of girl, brought in as the whim took her, who was never able to fully accommodate Beryl as she most desired to claim them. But her self control was, her doctor assured her, really a most remarkable feat, a product of her superior breeding and all the finer feeling which was innate to one of her station, and here, on the bed before her, was the reward for her years of patience. A suitable wife, at last.

Even the lower-born mother whose freckles and simple manners had rendered the girl less refined was, in her own way, a pleasant thing to contemplate now. She made the girl less like Philip, whose nervy refinement was of a type distasteful to Beryl. The mother had clearly been comely of face, and the solidity of the girl's limbs were not unappealing in their own way. They spoke of a fitness for rough riding that stirred Beryl’s blood.

As to the rest . . .

Beryl delicately spread Jerusha's thighs and breathed in the scent of her. It was, perhaps, an injudicious choice—the aroma of the girl, heretofore muted by her skirts, was stronger than she had suspected and it had a very physical impact on Beryl. Her pulse thrummed in response and her groin tightened with sudden, singular purpose.

The urge to mount her conquest then and there seized her strongly, and Beryl backed up, breathing fast. In her haste to retreat, she upended a small stool, and the clatter caused Jerusha to stir. She put a hand underneath her and tried to lever herself up in the bed.

"Aunt?" she said, thickly. Her coronet had come undone and tumbled down in a half-bound tangle of plaits and curls, so she looked very like a little country fairy tumbled fresh from a hedgerow. Hildy had done her best, but nature would out. Beryl got a firm grip on her own, and mustered a tender smile.

"Hello, my dear. How do you feel?"

Jerusha's face pulled into an adorably perplexed frown.

"Very . . . strange." Colour brightened her cheeks as she realized that her skirts had been removed and her most intimate places laid bare to the scrutiny of her aunt. She closed her legs in a belated attempt to safeguard her modesty. "Is this your room?"

"It is. Where better to spend our wedding night?" Beryl moved to sit on the bed, and put a friendly hand on the girl's arm to calm her. The heat that surged under her skin spoke to the efficacy of the herbal tinctures, and the way Jerusha clearly struggled to process this information spoke in equal parts to the power of her own being working upon her, and the strength of the vintage Beryl had in her wine stores.

"Our what?"

Beryl was moved to exquisite patience by her niece's transparent confusion.

"We are married now, my dear. Tonight was our wedding and reception. I assure you they do not think ill of you for being unequal to lasting throughout. They all know your mother was not what she could have been, and your father was my own wayward brother, so they do not begrudge you any lack of endurance. Now that I have made public claim of you, they will accept you as my wife and you will be accorded every courtesy due your new station."

She smiled encouragingly at Jerusha, but the girl did not seem immediately calmed by this speech. Instead she searched her aunt's face with a kind of baffled fear.

"How are we married? I don't understand. Why would you marry me?"

"The legal system on the islands is rather more accommodating of unique circumstances than those of our native shores. And as to why—I require heirs, Jerusha. I prefer that those heirs be my own descendants, as I think is quite natural, but I have too long searched for a suitable bride. Our kind are very difficult to find in any quantity at all, never mind in social circles which might permit a lady of my standing to consider marriage. It is to my very great fortune that Philip did one good thing before he shuffled off this mortal coil. He gave me you."

Jerusha blinked.

"Descendants?"

Beryl sighed. Speech was perhaps not the best means to communicate all needful information to a less trained intellect like that of her poor niece. Better, perhaps, to simply show her, and help her understand in that way.

Delicately, with exquisite modesty, Beryl stood and shifted the front of her cross-tied peignoir. Her erection wanted very little coaxing to stand forth, and at the sight of it poor Jerusha started back on the coverlet in real alarm.

"What is that?!" she cried, and Beryl advanced to catch the girl's hand in hers and introduce it to her new wife's impressive cockstand.

Her fingers quivered and quailed as she was bade to pass her palm over the velvety cockhead, to feel the heat of it and caress its great length. The girl's face crumpled in a kind of helpless panic, and tears spilled out in modest quantity.

"I don't understand, aunt, what has happened to you?"

"It is as I was born," Beryl said, really very _queenly_ , she felt, in her so-perfect patience with her poor, untrained little bride. "A certain few are, you understand? Some are as I am: made to conquer and claim in the manner of most men, though rather more thoroughly than they are able. Others are like you—their bodies made fit to receive and yield suitably to those who are like me. An ordinary girl could not accept me as she should, and is given much pain when she tries, but you will be equal to the task.

“I have had you tested and examined, so you need not fear that you are not of the correct physicality. The doctors have examined you, both there and here, and determined you have the capacity to receive me in my _true_ entirety."

Best not, Beryl thought, go into any detail just now about that. Jerusha was struggling enough to comprehend her new role as it was.

"How can I be like that?" she whispered. "I never knew it."

"Some never do discover the truth of themselves, I am told. Something to do with inadequate nutrition, I believe, and the unnatural repression of self. Of course, I happen to think a little self control is evidence of great refinement in a lady. I imagine it is your father's genetic influence which kept you unfulfilled until I found you, and the correct elixirs could be administered to bring you into a fuller knowledge of yourself.”

She released the girl's hand and sat nearer her on the bed, gently parting her knees with one firm, unyielding hand.

"It used to be, I gather, that we were in greater number, but of course those of us who belong in the highest circles of society could not lower ourselves to mix with the rest, in the ordinary way of things, and so we are not as great in number as once we were. But you and I have found each other, so perhaps others of our station may also have formed like unions, and who knows but that in a few generations' time our children may find each other in turn."

"Ch-children?" Jerusha gasped, staring up at her aunt.

"It is the way of wives, is it not," Beryl said mildly, "to bear children? It will be this way for you. I am not sure how long it will take to accomplish, but you may trust that I will not neglect my duties in visiting you as often as it takes to make you catch."

She unlaced her own gown as she spoke and let it fall away, so that she was as bared to the sight of her little wife as her wife was to hers. Their bodies were painted in flickering yellow and gold by candle light. She watched Jerusha's eyes go right to her cock, and hang there, as if her very gaze had been made prisoner by it. Beryl used this to her advantage, sliding off her bedroom slippers and climbing between the girl's slim, spread thighs.

The treasure she kept there was signalling its readiness, even if the girl it belonged to was not. Beryl watched Jerusha's face as she pressed the tip of her cock to the entrance, feeling the scorching welcome of slick-soaked heat, and was rewarded by her niece’s gaze shifting out of focus.

"Unnngh," she groaned at that first contact, and Beryl quivered in triumph.

"My dear," she murmured, "you must brace yourself now. I assure you I will be as gentle as I am able, but I gather in this moment, one's natural urges and instincts are wont to overpower. I hope that for your sake, yours are quicker to take hold than my own."

The girl's mouth hung open just a little. The droop of that full, lower lip gave her a wanton, lascivious expression. Beryl leaned forward on impulse and kissed her, hard, bearing her down into the mattress and at the same time making the first, hard thrust which caused her cock to breach.

Jerusha cried out, garbled, muffled by her lady wife's aggressive kiss. Then, even as she drew breath to cry again, Beryl thrust once more, a little clumsier than she would have liked, but still confident and sure. Jerusha was weeping now, and making some feeble attempt to crawl out from under her, but Beryl simply gave her a good, hard slap to the face, which shocked and settled her nicely.

"You must not give way, my dear," she said firmly. "You're not a servant girl brought up from the street for my sport. You are my wife, and must learn to conduct yourself accordingly. If you persist in this undignified behaviour, I shall have to discipline you as I would a girl of lower station, and this would grieve us both, I am sure. Now," she took Jerusha's hand in hers, and brought it down to the place where she had entered her. "You see? I am quite inside you already. Not entirely, but enough for you to see that this is all very possible. Perhaps if you just lie still, it will be easier for you to bear."

And, so saying, Beryl thrust again with Jerusha's hand still clutching in desperate bewilderment at the base of her cock, her little fingers trembling to explore the point of their union.

"I—" she panted. "I don't want—"

But then Beryl bore down, and Jerusha's words collapsed in on themselves, turning into a low, piteous moan. Acceptable, Beryl decided, and even understandable for a maiden bride. She decided to allow Jerusha her quieter protests without obliging her to suffer chastisement, and instead set to finding a good, steady rhythm with which to force her open.

The slick helped her advance without much difficulty, and after the first few thrusts she set a nice, steady pace. Not so fast as to arouse her to knot-readiness before she was confident of Jerusha's reception, but quick enough that Jerusha's gaze dulled, and went vacant once more. She stared blankly at a spot above Beryl's shoulder as the older woman thrust deep into the core of her, moaning at every inward stroke but making no more resistance.

"Good girl," Beryl soothed, "there's a good girl, Jerusha, you are doing so well! Look at how sweetly you take it already."

Jerusha's jaw slacked and she panted in response. A wet, helpless little rhythm to match Beryl's own domineering one. Beryl's cock twitched in response, and she knew that no matter how masterful her self control, the knot would not be much longer in coming. But could the girl take it? She looked down in some concern to note that even her entire cock had not yet claimed her little wife's cunt. This was concerning. How could she hope to breed the girl if she could not even tie with her?

"This may be indecorous," she cautioned, drawing back, "but I am afraid I must impose on your humility, Jerusha, in a very shocking way. You will need to be on your front for this, my dear. I am afraid that posture I shall demand you assume is unbecoming of a lady, but I hope you will not make me cross by attempting to refuse."

Jerusha, far from refusing, scarcely seemed to hear her. And when Beryl drew her cock free which a reluctant groan, she saw why. Some function of Jerusha's biology had been at work following her first penetration, and the heretofore very demure little mons, modestly crowned with dark curls, had swollen and plumped and darkened to a shape that was almost floral, albeit all the more obscene for its clear fleshyness. Her arousal had rendered her cunt a vessel fit to receive all that Beryl had to give it. The slick of her heat drooled wantonly forth, and Beryl, quite lost to her own instincts, at once pressed her face to the greedy, drooling cunt and lapped at the slick that waited there. She slurped at the proud little projection of the clitoral hood, laving it with her tongue until Jerusha's hips bucked greedily up to coat Beryl's cheeks and chin with proof of her niece's readiness to be mounted and fucked. But Beryl, her face buried in the girl's cunt, could not rest until she had brought her first to orgasm. And when Jerusha came it was with a very unladylike cry, nearly a scream, as she lifted her hips up off the bed and Beryl watched her cunt clutch and contract greedily in quest of something it did not yet contain.

"Oh," Beryl gasped, utterly overcome. "oh! I shan't make you wait a moment longer.” Then she leaned forward and, in tones and manner entirely unlike her custom, growled, “Get up on your knees at once, you little bitch."

Jerusha, so addressed, blinked starrily at her lady wife and obeyed without question. Beryl in her usual state of mind might have been shocked at her own choice of term, except in Jerusha's desperate obedience and the posture she adopted mostly by instinct, the truth of the title was found. Jerusha presented her hindparts in the manner that instinct bade her, exactly like a bitch in heat, desirous of being fucked. And so Beryl at once mounted her adorable little bitch-wife as she so desperately needed to be.

There was no preparatory thrust this time. One brutal masterful stroke and Beryl had impaled the girl on her cock. Jerusha shrieked in abandoned pleasure and pain, and was given no chance to match thrust for thrust because Beryl made herself so immediately the mistress of the situation that all Jerusha could do was to bow down and take it.

And take it she did. The entire domination of her cunt was accomplished not a half-dozen strokes later, when Beryl's knot swelled forth, impossibly massive, and Beryl caught her wife around the throat to ensure her surrender before snapping her hips forward and cramming the knot home with a slick _pop_ , wringing a pained, helpless groan from its new conquest.

Jerusha had barely accepted the knot before she started coming again, her cunt clutching frantically at the cock inside her, and sounds that were more animalian than anything else spilled from her lips. Beryl would have slapped her for such unseemly protest masquerading as abandon, but the noises were working their own effect on her. She had to claim this girl. Had to fill her, flood her, and possess her completely, and so she kept thrusting, imprisoned by her own knot though she was, jerking her hips frantically forward just in case there was any space left inside her little bride's cunt left to claim.

By the time Beryl's orgasm took her, Jerusha was pinned under her lady's body, staring blankly to one side as she moaned, sound without sense, and Beryl emptied her spend into the waiting cunt. Spurt after spurt after spurt of semen flooded the girl, filled her, and she continued to climax, helplessly hopelessly, completely conquered by the unyielding claim of her wife's cock.

When at last the final drops had been wrung from Beryl's cock by Jerusha's clutching cunt, the two lay as they had fallen, Beryl on top, Jerusha beneath her, pinned safely and securely below her wife in the stifling comfort of their marriage bed.

~*~

It was some several minutes before Beryl felt sufficiently recovered to roll to the side, helping Jerusha turn onto her own side as she did. Her knot was still firmly sealed in the girl's cunt, and Beryl reached down to pat the place where her damp curls mingled with Jerusha's. A splendid seal, she marvelled. Not a drop had escaped—nor, she suspected, would it, until her knot went down enough to work free.

But she was in no rush, and to judge by the charming pliancy of her new bride's limbs, the way she rooted in so close, helpless in her own need to seek comfort from the woman who had just deflowered her, neither was Jerusha.

"There now, my dear," she sighed, pressing a kiss to her little wife's neck, "that was not a thing worth fighting me over, was it?"

Jerusha whimpered, but said nothing. Beryl smiled, charmed by the girl’s reserve, and reached around to play with the soft crest of her bride's nipple. She had no particular aim in mind when doing so, except to prove her claim, and she enjoyed the way Jerusha's breath hitched when she was pinched and tweaked and teased until, adorably, she came _again_ , a faint little aftershock of an orgasm, her body still very much the master of her senses yet.

"Good girl," crooned Beryl, and Jerusha melted against her, quite helpless under the praise. "Look at you, pet. You take it so sweetly. What a good girl."

She pinched again, and bless her wanton little wife if she didn’t still have one tiny cry, one tiny clutch of the cunt, still left to give.

 _Really_ , Beryl thought, _if she's not carrying by this time next year, I'll eat my hat!_

“Now, Jerusha,” she lectured, “this goes beyond a question of duty. In one evening I have given you the gift of my name, my spend and your own pleasure. I know you know the answer to this: what do we say when somebody makes a nice present to us?”

Jerusha lay still a long moment, her manners fighting the fog of her pleasure, her pain and the aftereffects of wine, before she could offer her answer:

“Thank you, Aunt Beryl.”

Beryl patted the abused nipple in approval. “You are quite welcome, my dear. I assure you, the pleasure was all mine.”

In all, Beryl thought, a promising beginning indeed.


End file.
